Losing Control
by 123serendipitee
Summary: Control and loft dynamics are the issue of the day. Too bad Nick feels his grasp on both is slipping away, along with his sanity. (based on season one's "Control)
1. Chapter 1

The first time it happened was on their couch, which wasn't surprising. With the weird shifts Nick worked they didn't always get to spend a lot of time together, but when they did, the couch had sort of become their meeting place. More intimate than the kitchen, less intimate than their bedrooms, the living area was actually a pretty good physical and metaphorical representation of their relationship at that point: perfectly innocent and comfortable...and yet ripe with the the tantalizing possibility of "something more" that the merest shift of mood and position would facilitate.

Not that it ever had.

Yet.

Yes, Jess would get home from school and plop down next to him, and under the guise of discussing her day they would do a little laughing and, yeah, if you want to get technical about it,_ a bit of flirting_, until he had to leave for work.

Then Nick would come in from the bar in the wee hours of the night, and somehow she would still be up watching TV, even though she had to get up early for school the next day. And he would sigh tiredly as he lowered himself down next to her, exhausted, but somehow suddenly feeling like he wasn't quite ready for bed afterall. Sometimes he'd give one of her pigtails a teasing little tug by way of wordless greeting, and the tension that had been building in his neck all night long would melt inexplicably away as they settled into the companionable quiet of pretending to watch late night TV together.

So it had all started innocuously enough, this particular Saturday afternoon. They were sharing a bowl of popcorn while watching "The Big Valley" on some classic TV cable channel. She kept talking about getting up and making brownies, but never did. He mentioned being scarred for life by the episode in which Mrs. Barkley had been kidnapped and subjected to Chinese Water Torture, and then Jess...well, Jess had unwittingly shared that as a little girl, she'd had a crazy crush on the character named "Nick", even though he was always just grouchy and impatient with everyone.

_And he could feel the immediate shift in the atmosphere, and knew that things were about to change._

She turned to him with a sudden smile of realization, saying, "HEY! That's just like..." -but her laugh kinda ended in a weird little hiccup when when _he _wasn't laughing.

On the contrary, the expression on his face was stark with prospect and contemplation. And other than the lingering inspiration of their ubiquitous latent sexual tension, nostalgic westerns were all forgotten as he silently took the popcorn bowl out of her lap and placed it on the table with a slow, calculated deliberateness.

And it hadn't taken much on his part, really...just the merest tilt of the head in her direction, and the gamble that she wouldn't pull away in response, as she had with Schmidt.

She didn't.

Her lips were slightly slick with butter, and before he knew it his first, gentle, tentative little kiss was deepening, and he was parting her lips, and testing her with the tip of his tongue, tasting the salt there as her tongue shyly met him halfway.

So it turned out to be so easy, this thing that he had always thought would be so impossible, as the slightest adjustment of his body weight was enough to direct her back against the couch cushions, with all of the most delicious parts of her readily accessible.

And his hands free for the accessing.

But he just started with one hand, barely hovering against her cheek, while he broke off the sweetly salty kiss long enough to lean his forehead against hers. They merely shared the same oxygen for a few quivering moments, until he said, "Jess...", and she answered "Yes?" Except that it was really the other way around, and he was the one asking the question, and she was answering in the affirmative, and it was all he needed in order to know that she was sure.

And that she'd been waiting for this just like he had.

So when he took her mouth again it was with a surer passion, and she was matching it, and he could smell the popcorn on her hands in his hair, and they were holding him to her, and not letting him even think about backing out now.

Not that that impulse was remotely occurring to him.

One of his hands was on her hip, kneading through her skirt, feeling the bone there, and pushing her down into the couch seat. He decided that his other hand was really just being wasted where it was, there braced on the back of the couch behind her head, and in one slow sweet he brought it across her hair, thumbed her jaw, and then rested his palm across the tantalizingly innocent V of skin revealed at the top of her blouse.

He could feel her heart pounding all the way up there, and he stopped kissing her a minute to just stare at the back of his hand...just marveling at the fact that it was THERE. And he thought that he could feel his own heart begin to beat off-time with hers, in his palm... pulse parrying with pulse, in the crescendoing give and take of the age-old dance.

And then she whimpered so quietly that he might have imagined hearing it, except that he didn't.

It was a plea that he did not immediately obey, however, as his eyes dropped to her mouth, and he thought, "This is happening. I'm kissing Jess. Jess is kissing me." He wanted to savor the moment, and lifted his eyes to hers again, and then slowly, so slowly and gently, but surely, he slid a finger or two under the collar of her blouse.

Her eyes shut then as her head fell back against the couch, and he leaned in to taste the long white column of her neck. He found her heart pounding there, too, and he absorbed its erratic beat on the flat of his tongue. And as he felt her tremble and then melt into the moment, he suddenly and seamlessly slid his entire hand in to cradle the bottom of one small breast.

His name, strangled on her lips, was the sweetest thing he'd ever heard, and he lifted his head to take her lips again, this time with a tender suckling that matched the gently teasing circles his broad thumb was slowly making around her areola.

"Oh God. Oh God. Oh God." Jess's mouth fell from his, her head moving restlessly against the back of the couch, until with a little moan of frustration she finally looked him boldly in the eye...and strained her breast up fully into his hand.

And when his strong fingers finally scissored her nipple her cry was helpless, and suddenly there were way too many clothes in the way, and they were undoing buttons, and pushing, and pulling, and helping, and dispensing, until he was heaving like a racehorse, wide-eyed, taking in the sight of her.

Because even the memories of that crazy night with Amanda hadn't prepared him for how tiny she was, and how white she was, and how black and heavy her hair hung against the soft skin of her slight but perfect frame. A long lock had fallen over the breast he hadn't touched yet, and he moved it away gently, before cradling her face again, and she was looking up at him with so much trust, but so much vulnerability, and it was Jess, it was no-one-else-like-her Jess. It was HIS Jess, and there he was, just Nick, just plain old Nick, but she was looking at HIM like that, and she was kissing HIM, and she was letting HIM touch her there, and suddenly he felt like he could do anything. Anything he wanted to do.

And so he did.

He leaned forward, cupped her face, kissed her on the forehead...and then moved both hands down to cup both of her breasts. He kept his eyes locked with hers while he did it, and she didn't waver, other than suddenly biting her bottom lip with a nervousness that was at once entirely sure of itself. But the shining in her eyes was almost more than he could take, so he leaned forward to shut them by nibbling at that tenderest of skins, her eyelids, while his fingers coaxed her nipples to hard points of desire.

"Jess," he whispered, as he passed her mouth just long enough to drop off a kiss, like a promise, there. And then he was at her throat again, revisiting the sweetly throbbing spot he'd discovered earlier...but only briefly so, because the soft round little hills below were beckoning. He felt her jump as he scraped them with his whiskers, but didn't even have time to feel sorry before his mouth was closing on one of their tight peaks, and she was arching and grabbing his head, beside herself, crying out like she was already coming.

"Niiiick," she pleaded, and since it seemed senseless to make her beg when they both wanted the same thing, he moved a hand to a creamy white thigh. He promised himself that he would explore their deliciousness at length at some future time, but for now, it was ridiculously easy to move his hand up it, past the hem of her short skirt, to find the apex of her already parted legs, push her flimsy underwear to the side, and waste no time slipping his middle finger deep into her musky depths.

She was wet, wet, so wet already, and he muttered it harshly against her mouth: "You feel so good Jess...Gaaawd, I can't believe you're so wet for me. I want to make you come...please come for me, baby girl." And his thumb was working her clit and he was finger fucking her, and she was grinding against his hand frantically, and when she came it was so fast and hard that he knew she'd been wanting this, waiting for this, for as long as he had.

He was kissing her when she came, swallowing her climax ravenously and relentlessly, riding the helplessly bucking movements of her head and refusing to let go of her lips until her last heaving jerks subsided. And even then he wouldn't let her fall away to purr alone, but went back to nibbling at her lips sweetly, gently, savoring the lax submission that he found there, and knowing in his male ego that he'd conquered her well. Finally he moved her underwear back into place and massaged her through them enough times to soak them through, watching her shake with the aftershocks, until she finally could take no more, and pushed his hand away.

She still had hold of his wrist as he reached forward and grabbed her head, heedless of the sweet sticky mess he was transferring to her hair, and stared into her glazed eyes. The contrast of their heavy breathing filled the air between them for a few, still seconds...hers, sated and slowing, in an unfair juxtaposition to his, still ragged and needing. And he saw in her eyes the exact moment when that awareness permeated the sweet fog of her satisfaction...saw the intention re-dawning in her eyes as she gulped with renewed anticipation...and his mouth came crushing down on hers again.

And her hands were on him now, eager to return the favor, working away at the front of his pants as he rose over her, his knees straddling her thighs...

...when a sudden knocking stopped them both cold, and froze the tormented moan that had been growling in the back of his throat..


	2. Chapter 2

"Nick? Are you okay? Are you sick?"

It was Jess's voice.

...but...?

...how could it be Jess at the door, when she was beneath him on the couch, with her ruby rose of a mouth mere inches away from his dick? He opened his eyes in bleary confusion...but instead of leather and raven hair, he saw the ceiling of his bedroom, the scattered blankets of his bed, and his cock, beyond fully engorged, twitching in agitation against his lower abdomen.

He groaned again, a completely different kind of moan now, and threw an arm across his face. He grasped in vain after the quickly retreating tendrils of the heavenly dream he'd been having, but it was shattering and scattering now, like dandelion fluff in the wind, leaving him desperately, _angrily_, unfulfilled and disappointed.

"Nicholas?" And it was the sound, on the other side of the door, of _her_ voice, saying _his _name, that pushed him over-that sent hot cum splashing up his belly, and pouring over the edge of his fist when he reached down to finish himself off.

As soon as he could, he answered with weak ferocity, "**Do NOT come in, Jess**. Just...go away."

"Yeah, but are you..."

"Just a little sick to my stomach, that's all," he managed to grit out. "I'll be ok. Please go away."

"Okaaay," she mumbled unhappily, reluctantly, "If you're sure."

_Oh, he was sure, alright. _He was sure that he wanted to pull her into his room, and into his arms, and into his bed, and to turn his most recent wet dream about her into a reality.

But he was also sure that doing so could be the biggest mistake of his life.

Nick pulled his shirt off over his head in a fit of aggravation, compressing his lips tightly as he used it to clean away the evidence of his folly.  
**  
GAAAAAH. **Why could he not get this girl out of his system?! What was he, some kind of green teen, that he couldn't handle living across the hall from someone possessing a vagina without walking around with a semi-permanent chubby?!

He launched the soiled t shirt toward his laundry hamper with way more force than was necessary, irritatedly jerking the sheet halfway across his naked lap, before rubbing his face in frustration.

He'd thought he had this thing under control.

_This completely inexplicable, inappropriate and impossible attraction he felt for the one human being who had the power to annoy him worse than anyone else on the planet._

But as he grimly scrubbed the vestiges of sleep from his eyes, he knew that the real problem lay somewhere in between his secret seething lust for her, and his extreme impatience with her more, er, "challenging" character traits. Because the scariest thing was that there was this whole damn middle ground, where he just plain LIKED the girl...and just plain LIKED TO BE with her...and just plain LIKED WHO HE WAS when he_ was _with her.

**DAMN THAT COUCH**...that no-man's-land where he caught himself smiling more than he could ever remember smiling before. Damn that doomed way that they told each other every damn thing, and knew exactly what the other person was thinking when they crinkled their damn noses at each other, and made each other laugh so damn hard that no damn sound came out and damn _damn_ **DAMN**.

Nick inhaled deeply through his nose, exhaled audibly through clenched teeth, and tried to CALM HIMSELF THE HELL DOWN. When had this gotten out of hand again, anyway?

I mean, sure, seeing her naked that time had naturally stirred up some unwanted thoughts and feelings for awhile there...but then he'd started dating Julia, and all that went away.

Well, kinda.

_Sorta._

Okay, HE GOT IT UNDER CONTROL, all right?!

But then breaking up with Julia (or perhaps more accurately, getting BROKEN UP with BY Julia) had sent him into a tailspin that he'd never really come out of, and he'd found himself relying emotionally on Jess more than anyone was probably even aware.

He sure hoped they weren't aware anyway.

Because it was more than he'd even wanted to admit to himself.

Then he'd had the cancer scare, which had wreaked all kinds of havoc with his mental state, and had left him wallowing in secret doubt and frustration over the very purpose of his life, and the hopelessness that his present existence projected over his foreseeable future and beyond.

Deep stuff.

So with such heavy matters to avoid contemplating, how had he found himself coping?

_Like an idiot, that's how. _

By anticipating stolen couch minutes with one of his roommates like a giddy school girl.

By juggling his schedule, whenever possible, around the times that he knew Winston and Schmidt would NOT be around to raise their eyebrows at their recreational bickering.

By finding himself wondering, when they were apart, what Jess would be thinking and what she would be saying and how she would be looking, if she _were _there.

Hell, sometimes her invisible presence kept him company at work all night, perching on the closest bar stool, cocking her head at him sassily, wrinkling up her nose in silent shared humor at the ramblings of the drunk and disorderly, and widening her eyes at the gall of any woman who was bold enough to smile at him suggestively in the presence of her non-presence.

That's right. Apparently he had an imaginary girlfriend, now.

_It was official. He was losing his mind._

Oh sure, if he were in the mood to be kinder to himself, he might submit the excuse that in the absence of any regular female, er, "companionship" in his life, it was just inevitable that the girl he lived with would begin weighing heavy on his awareness. And it could also be suggested that, since he was still trying to make sense out of what might or might not have happened that night on the beach, it was just natural that he'd been allowing himself to think about Jess "that way" again, far too much...as if it were an actual possibility. As if she...and him...together..._like that_...was an option that would _not _turn their living arrangement upside down, and possibly tear it apart.

**BUT. **In recent weeks he'd been forced to reflect on the very real jeopardy inherent in playing fast and loose with the loft dynamics when, in one of Jess's more misguided moments, she had made it her mission to help Schmidt loosen up and relax.

And while sometimes she could be spookily spot-on in her analyses of their personal dysfunctionalities, this time it had all gone terribly wrong. And if any of them had learned anything from the experience, it was that indeed, their apartment was a fragile ecosystem, and any change to the resident personalities and their relative relationships had the potential to blow it all to hell. Their little family was imperfectly perfect as it was, and messing with that delicate balance was a gamble too risky to take.

And so now, Nick took another bracing, mind-clearing breath, filling and emptying his lungs a little more calmly now, as for the millionth time he steadied himself with a new, old resolve. The resolve to conquer this thing, _this crazy thing_, once and for all. The resolve to _keep_ their relationship in that sweet place, that "somewhere between the kitchen and the bedroom" place, where he could teeter rather thrillingly on the delicious verge of forbidden potential, while still maintaining the balance and control needed to keep Jess right where she belonged in his life.

Because where she belonged was: _in his life.  
_  
And as if on cue, she appeared "in his life" again, with yet another tentative knock, and yet another worried inquiry. "Nick? Are you sure you're ok? Do you need anything?"  
_  
Did he need anything. Heh. _ Yes, yes he did. There were a LOT of things that he felt like he "needed", with every keening, aching fiber of his masculinity, and maybe even his heart. But _more than that_, he needed things to stay just the way they were. Because while there were incredibly tempting possibilities involved in indulging his baser desires, there were also absolutely unthinkable ones. Ones in which, in the end, she might disappear from his life entirely.

And so he answered her with all the frustration borne out of denying himself the former, and all the fear prompted by contemplating the danger of the latter: "_YES_, Jess, I _told_ you, I'm _FINE_. _**GOD**_. Just...just _GO AWAY_! **I SWEAR**_**, ****sometimes you drive me crazy!"**_

But then he winced in disgust at himself, grudgingly recognizing that what he was really saying, of course, was:

_ "Please Jess...please...don't ever go away...because I'm NOT fine...at ALL...and sometimes I think you're the only thing keeping me from going completely insane._


End file.
